Today I tried to wheedle a metformin prescription from my ob-gyn, but he assured me that I do not in fact have pcos and that he will not in fact prescribe unnecessary medications. Hrumph. I guess the classical pcos symptoms checklist could have gone either way, but he is of the school that since I occasionally ovulate, as evidenced by a handful of pregnancies and one child, I am not, therefore, per his diagnosis, afflicted with pcos. Oh, I could curb those commas, but the effect just wouldn’t be the same.
The pcos checklist:
- Irregular (check) or no periods (no)
- Acne (no)
- Obesity (check)
- Excess hair growth (no)
But I have a family history of diabetes, said I. Compounded with a history of gestational diabetes. And what about this article (from a reliable internet source and now in my recycle bin) that states quite clearly that
“Clomid does not work well in extremely obese patients…these patients usually have insulin resistance and those patients should be highly encouraged to lose weight before induction of ovulation. Insulin sensitizing agents such as Metformin should be the primary treatment…”
Again, and bless his professional heart, I don’t get an unnecessary prescription. My most recent A1C hemoglobin test was 6, which is borderline, and my glucose level from that test was 77, which was excellent. So. No metformin. I do get to continue the Clomid. Oh Joy. This time I will have a serum progesterone test mid-luteal phase, and then we’ll take it from there.
Meanwhile, back on the home front, I felt exceptionally sleepy shortly after having some ginger ale. Yes, the sugary kind. I don’t normally drink soda, and especially not sugary soda (after GD, and all), but we had some leftover from Easter and I was thirsty (and lazy). So I had some. Oh, did I mention the leftover pizza I had shortly before the soda No Or the leftover stale donut Okay, so the first part of the day was not an exemplary day as far as food decisions go. Note to self. Get OVER the childhood waste not want not there are starving children in India and China and Africa and clean up your plate or else and don’t you dare let that go to waste mentality. (Even so, I deplore wastefulness. Can’t stand it. Yes, there is the rationale that the greater evil is putting that crappe into my body, but the voices of the starving children in India and China and Africa invariably get there first and by then it’s too late, the deed has been done, and the donut is down the hatch.)
Where was I Oh. Sleepy. After a truckload of carbs. I decided to dig out my blood sugar meter and see the damage. After all, I had to step on the scale at the doctor’s office this morning, so I’ve already had to pull this ostrich head out of the sand. Why is it so easy to pretend that if I don’t look, there’s no problem After ruining one test strip (goodbye, one dollar — what a racket, the blood sugar monitoring industry), I figured out how to properly use the meter. Beep. 226. GOOD LORD. Try not to panic. How long has it been since that soda GOOD LORD.
Okay. Breathe deeply. Frantically search the internet to find the appropriate ranges. GOOD LORD. Go for a walk. Force that blood to move through my veins. GOOD LORD.
After half an hour of zune tunes under a clear blue sky (who knew that 30GB, which is nearly my entire 500ish CD library, all on shuffle, could make me sooooo happy), I feel infinitely better. Okay, so I’m a bazillion pounds overweight. I’ve even flirted with the idea of the lap band, but it seems so extreme, and hey, people die. Surely, if I can handle every professional challenge that comes my way, why can’t I handle this very personal and very important one Surely I can find a way to get out there and walk. Every. Single. Day. Surely I can do that Surely I can set a small goal to lose 5 lbs. Surely I can lose 5 lbs. Then I can do it again. And again. And again. Surely I can do that If I just don’t think of how many times I need to do that, perhaps I can get somewhere. Small steps. Small, attainable steps. GOOD LORD. That 226 number is like a Vegas billboard, flashing before my eyes. I have a vial of test strips left, so I plan to test until they’re gone, to get a better picture of what is really going on. If it’s really as bad as it seems, I’ll go see my primary care physician, and ask about metformin. This time, for insulin resistance and diabetes. It might actually be justified. Maybe I should have entitled this post, “be careful what you wish for,” because it will invariably bite you in the @$$.
